


Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor

by TurnUps



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7972999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurnUps/pseuds/TurnUps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assassin's Creed 3: You are a soldier fighting in the revolution when you are gravely injured. The assassin and War Hero Connor Kenway saves you and you find yourself at Davenport Homestead. The road ahead may change you and Connor forever.<br/>(Female x Reader for the first chapter only - then gender neutral.) (Medium burn but fluff along the way.)<br/>(Also posted on my quotev account - TurnTups is 80 Percent Kid Flash.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Soldier

Chapter One : Soldier

When you had signed up to be a soldier and fight, you hadn't thought it would be like this. Naturally, half of you had thought it would be all fun and games - a great lark and a bunch of stories to brag about to the boys at home. See - a girl can fight too! (Even if they didn't know you were a girl.) I can be a soldier - I told you! The other, more sobering half knew it would be hard. Seeing other people die. Killing other people.

You hadn't thought you'd be the one dying.

But you were.

You were the one staggering through the woods with a bullet in your arm and another embedded in your stomach. Both of your hands were applying pressure but the bleeding wasn't going to stop and the more you bleed the dizzier you became and the dizzier you were the less pressure you could apply. Not to mention that you were nowhere near any civilisation that you knew of.

You were going to die alone in the woods.

You should have accepted your face, but you didn’t, you just kept stumbling along.

Suddenly, you could hear a skittering of stones nearby you. Through the blood rushing in your head, you heard the clopping of a horses hooves.

The redcoats had followed you! They were coming to finish you off!

Hopelessly desperate to cling onto your life, you darted behind the nearest tree. Well, actually, you collapsed against it, panting, but at least you were out of sight.

You stayed there, trying to control your breathing so that it didn't alert them that you were there. Your head felt light and airy - never a good sign. The bullet wounds were throbbing painfully like a clock. Like a bomb.

Needless to say, you were much to focused on what was going on internally, to really notice your surroundings. Because a man had appeared, standing over you.

Just get it over with, you thought to yourself, wishing you had, in fact, sent that letter home like you had meant to. They'd all think you were a boy; untraceable to your old life. Your mother wouldn't even know you had died.

No one would remember you.

The man touched your shoulder.

And both of you leapt out of your skins, staring at each other with huge, round eyes.

For one thing, he was twice the size of a usual soldier. His clothes were different and unfamiliar - all layers and excess material. And a hood. It was the hood you recognised from wanted posters in Boston that made your already failing heart judder. Not a redcoat.

An assassin.

And yet, there was concern in his dark eyes.

"Can you walk?" he asked. His voice was low and soft.

"I - I think so," you stammered. _Was he helping you?_

"My horse is nearby," the man continued. He looped an arm under yours, effortlessly lifting you to your feet. "I will get you to a doctor."

_He was helping you?_

"What?" you murmured. You had felt as light as a feather, and though your head still retained the sensation, your body felt as heavy as lead as soon as he let go of you. "You're helping me?"

"Why not?" he replied, starting through the forest.

Upon seeing you take a stumbling step after him, he caught you once more, this time around the waist, slipping one of your arms over your shoulder. He probably could have lifted you with one arm.

An instinct within you told you to pull away to hide your secret, but you knew you wouldn't be able to walk unaided. Instead, you focused on stumbling along with the stranger. One foot in front of the other.

_One foot in front of the other..._

_...One foot in front of the other..._

_...One foot..._

His horse really was nearby. Barely a minute away. Which was good, because your wounds were still oozing blood. How could you lose this much and still have some to spare?

The assassin helped you onto the horse, swinging into the saddle behind you with ease. That was good - if you fainted then at least you wouldn't fall off. You felt oddly safe encircled by his arms.

The horse seemed to judder down the trail, getting faster and faster. You hoped that the man was urging it to move in haste because he was worried about you, but you also hoped that he would slow down because the movements made your wounds feel worse.

"How are you holding up?" he asked after a while.

"I've been better," you muttered through gritted teeth.

"We are almost there," he said, but his voice barely made it through the haze of your mind.

You were sure that you blacked out at least three times on the journey. There was a consistent pain in your wounds to let you know that you were still alive but dreams started to blur with reality and at times you couldn't remember much of where you were or what was real. Only the man's arms seemed to remain constant, an compassionate of warmth. In your delirious haze, you fancied that you were under the protection of a huge grizzly bear.

After a time, you became aware of the horse stopping, of the man lifting you off. Voices shouting. But you couldn't remember seeing much. The light was blinding, turning your eyelids the colour of blood. You remembered seeing flashes of green, lumps of faces. And your saviour’s endless eyes.

You felt distant to your body, as though you had retreated inside it.

Then your wound seemed to burn. You weren't sure if you really screamed or if it was just in your head, but it felt like the bullet holes had spawned into forest fires. First the one in your side, then the one in your arm. You desperately wanted to move away somehow, but your body seemed too heavy to move.

And then, they were just a throbbing pain once more.

Slowly, even that retreated until you were just lying in the comfortable darkness.

That was when the nightmares had started. The nightmares where redcoats turned to bears and savaged you, where men’s faces hovered in front of you like phantoms, where your arm would fall off and your guts would spill out - but you still worked. Like the un-dead. Like a zombie.

Slowly, the darkness started to recede. You started to wake up. Become aware that you were drifting in and out of dreams.

That you had been wounded. But that was good. Pain was good. Pain meant that you were still alive.

Eventually, you came to your senses.

You were lying in a mock hospital bed. It had obviously been adapted from a normal one. The headboard was wobbly due to being nailed on.

The room around you had been adapted into a mock-hospital room too - there was a huge stone hearth bricked up on one wall and markings were paintings had been taken down.

You could hear voices downstairs, muffled through the floorboards. You listened, your wounds pulsing dully, but you couldn't quite make out the words.

Then you heard footsteps on the stairs. Moving slowly, as though the person was listening for your movements.

The door creaked open and for a brief moment you panicked. What if you were among redcoats? Would they torture you now?

But it was your saviour coming through the door, and this put your heart at rest.

He had taken his hood off so you could see him properly for the first time. His hair was dark and partly tied back, with a braid dangling by his ear. His skin was also dark; the colour of coffee. A Native. He looked like someone who understood nature - and he was looking at you like you were a wounded animal he was tending to health.

Oh, and he was handsome enough to make you blush. Did I mention he was handsome?

For a moment, the two of you stared at each other, waiting for the fight or flight instinct to kick in.

"You are awake," he asked eventually. His tone made him sound as though he was asking a question he already knew the answer to.

"Yes," you muttered. You realised that the bandages around your chest - usually constricting your breath, weren't there any more. "Um, did you...?"  
You gestured weakly to your arm, which was now swaddled in bandages.

"No," he replied. For a moment, it looked like he was going to leave it at that, but then he continued. "We have a doctor living here. He was the one who saved you."

"Oh," you said. You felt like you had to fill the silence. But there was also a rush of relief. This man probably didn't know your secret. It was safe. You were safe.  
That didn't change the fact that your bindings were missing.

As the man came closer, you slipped lower under the covers in case he could see the shape of your breasts.

"And where is 'here'?" you asked.

"My...friend and I own a patch of land on the frontier. The Davenport Homestead." He answered, rather unhelpfully. You guessed if other people were living here though, you could catch a convoy back to a big city when you recovered. That would work.

"Oh," you murmured once more, sinking even lower into the sheets. "Thank you; for your help."

There was an awkward silence where you stared at the man and he stared at you. Both of you were trying to read the other but having very little success.

"Um, I'm Sam Swan, by the way," you said in a small voice. Mainly just to break the silence..

"My name is," he hesitated for just the briefest of moments. "Connor Kenway."

Your tired eyes widened as round as saucers.

"Connor Kenway?!" you repeated. Suddenly you were sat bolt upright. (Holding your sheets over you, of course.) "As in the man whose been helping our troops all over! At Bunker Hill and Lexington?"

"Yes, that was me," Connor replied in his ever impassive tone. Maybe if you weren't so ecstatic you would notice that he looked the slightest bit annoyed.

"But you're amazing! Hundreds of men must be alive because of you!" you continued. You'd never thought that you'd be rescued by a war hero! I mean, that must have been why he'd saved you but - what an honour!

"You should be careful, you'll re-open your wounds." He practically spoke over you. His hand touched your shoulder and gently pushed you back down.

You let him. Your compliments freezing in your throat. Because he was so close. So close to finding out your precious secret.

"Are you going to go back, as a soldier?" he asked, settling into a spindly wooden chair next to the bed.

You paused, sticking your tongue into your cheek as you considered his question.

"I should, probably," you said after a minute. "I mean, they probably all think I'm dead so I should let them now I'm okay - and, well, I signed up to fight. S’No good sitting around feeling sorry for myself. My dad always said 'if you want sympathy you'll find it in the dictionary'," here, you imitated his voice. "Next to sugar and... well, I can't remember the rest."

Connor was fixing you with a puzzled expression but you weren't paying attention. Instead, you were looking at the ceiling, taking a deep breath.

"I can't let a little thing like this keep me down." You muttered.

"Hardly a little thing," a new voice said. A bespectacled, dark haired man had entered the room and was leaning on the door frame, one eyebrow raised in your direction. "I fished two bullets out of you, Mis-"

"Thank you," you gabbled out, knowing that it seemed rude. But this must be the doctor who helped you, so he knew. And you didn't know if he would keep your secret.

You hoped you were telling him to keep quiet with your eyes, but from his expression, he wasn't getting a word of it.

Connor's eyes flicked between the two of you, trying to read you but coming up just as baffled.

"You should make a quick recovery," the doctor said eventually. "Until then, you should keep the exercising to a minimum."

"Right, thanks," you nodded. You wished he would just leave already. "Guess I'll be back to basic training then."

You managed a light hearted laugh and was the only one who did. Connor looked in pain and the Doctor looked like he didn't have a sense of humour.

"Connor, may I talk to you for a moment?" the doctor suddenly asked, turning to the tall man.

"Of course," Connor said nonchalantly.

The two walked out. You watched them, half relieved and half terrified. No doubt the doctor would be revealing all he knew.

But you were alone. And that was a nice feeling.

When their footsteps had faded, you gingerly tried to sit up. Your arm and side screamed at the movement, but you managed to shuffle yourself into a sitting position against the pillows, the duvet falling off of you.

You were wearing an over-sized, faded shirt that you were sure was Connor's. You could feel bandages around your chest, but they were only in support of your arm.  
Gingerly, you pressed against the wounds, seeing how much pressure you could apply before it stung. (Answer: not a lot.)

All of a sudden, the door swung open again and Connor was back.

You stared at him like a squirrel in a trap, completely exposed.

Then, much, much too late, you pulled the duvet up to your neck, your voice cracking as you told him to "get out! Go away!"

Connor backed up a step, raising his hands like he was surrendering.

"It's okay," he said. Then dropped his hands. "It does not matter. To me, you are still a solider."

You paused, searching for any glimmer of insincerity you could use to call him out. But there was none. Connor seemed to be honest.

"Why?" you pressed, still clutching the duvet like a lifeline.

"In the Kanien'kehá:ka tribe - my tribe, women hunt and fight alongside the men." Connor said. He had slowly edged toward you and, strangely, you relaxed as he did so. His prescence was warm and calming.

"I see," you replied, finally dropping the duvet. You considered his words, and a small smile crossed your face. "Your name's not really Connor, is it?"

He shook his head. You were a little disappointed; he knew your secrets, after all.

"And your name is not really Sam Swan," he replied.

"No..." you trailed off. You had half a mind not to reveal it to him, but it slipped out before you could be petty. "(y/n) (l/n)."

"Can I get anything for you?" he asked suddenly.

"Wine would be nice," you said automatically with a small smirk. Other injured soldiers you knew had asked for the same thing and it had become somewhat of an inside joke. "Or a game of chess."

"I'll see what I can do," Connor said, with the slightest smile of his own. Maybe he liked you. You hoped he liked you. _You_ liked him.

You relaxed back into the pillows to wait for him. It felt like a gate had been opened - you could relax now that Connor accepted you for who you were.

He was back a few minutes later, with a chess board under one arm.

"I was...to scared to break into Achilles' wine store," he said, almost sheepishly.

You couldn't help a small giggle.

"Achilles?" you asked.

"He's," Connor paused as he started into the room. "He's my - he runs - he owns this place. The friend."

It sounded like there was more to the story and Connor hadn't thought of a good cover up. But, you knew he probably wouldn't tell you even if you asked, so you let it slide. Maybe if you became friends he'd start telling you the truth.

Maybe.

But you had the feeling he didn't even tell his friends everything.

Anyway, at the moment you were going to concentrate on getting better. And that started with a game of chess. Connor was able to find a table large enough to precariously balance the board on and you set up the pieces.

Only when everything was set up, did you notice his bemused expression.

"Oh, I forgot to ask - do you play chess?" you felt yourself blush at your rudeness - only made worse when Connor shook his head.

"Do you need two players for this game?" he asked, eyeing the pieces almost wearily. He shifted in his seat and you got the message.

"If you have something else to do, you can go," you said, fiddling with the edge of the duvet. "I often played by myself when I was little."

"No. Teach me."

 


	2. Initiate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having fully recovered from your wounds, you meet with the Owner of the Davenport Homestead, Achilles.

**(A/N): Art for this chapter done by Zandraart.tumblr.com**  
  
Chapter Two : Initiate  
  
That was how it went for the next week. You were practically bedridden, so you passed the time mostly by playing chess with Connor. He quickly got the hang of the rules and you would challenge him whenever he came into the room, because it was getting harder and harder to beat him.

He always brought you a newspaper and you would quickly scan it for any information about the war or your unit. There wasn't much. You didn’t ever see your name.  
A woman called Prudence brought you your meals, usually whilst the nurse, Diana checked your bandages often. The only problem was was that neither Doctor White or Connor could keep a secret, so they both knew you were a girl. It made you feel strange to go back to your old identity.

You supposed it wasn't that odd. No one had treated you like a girl in so long that you felt almost naked without your bindings. It consoled you that no one treated you any different - Connor least of all. He spoke to you of your experiences on the battle field as though you were any other soldier.

But one day, he didn’t visit you. Diana came in to change your bandages and you asked after Connor. Apparently, he'd gone to Boston. No one knew when he'd be back. Apparently is was a regular occurrence.

The only good news was that you were strong enough to get out of bed. Being naturally curious and itching to move around, you decided to explore the Davenport homestead. 

It was a hot day and the oversized clothes that you'd been borrowing from Connor (tied at the waist to make them fit somewhat), stuck to you in minutes. But at least you were free.

There was a dirt path right outside Dr White’s little home and you headed down it, your legs feeling like jelly from lack of use.

A raccoon ran across the path in front of you. It was tame enough to stop at your feet and beg for food and you politely explained to it that you didn’t have any.

You decided to follow it into the forest. And you spent the whole day wondering aimlessly; stopping to take breaks whenever you got tired and eventually finding Prudence's farm and being bullied into a huge dinner there. (In celebration, of course.) You were half convinced she was fattening you up on pot pie and meatloaf but it tasted so good that you couldn't help yourself. Plus, their son was a cute baby.

The next couple of days passed in the same fashion - you found a mill and slowly walked away as its owners started bickering within the first five minutes (their wives making a fuss of how pale you still looked), and you found a huntress who you got on great with - and, if you were honest, you had half-fallen for her. You were sure you could have wooed her if you still had your male garb. 

Regardless, she let you borrow some of her clothes, and they fit you infinitely better than Connor's.

On the third day of your freedom, as you headed to Myriam’s camp, you heard the clacking of a cart behind you. At first, you didn't believe it was coming your way, but a few moments later the sound was blaring in your ears. With a panicked half glance back, you leapt to the side of the road, ready to give the driver a good yelling as he passed.

The carriage rattled past then came to an abrupt halt. The driver suddenly leapt of the side as soon as the horses started to slow to a stop.

You felt your heart skip a beat.

"Connor! You're back!" you cried, starting towards him. You'd missed his company - those dark eyes - so much that you were going in for a hug.

He caught your shoulders, staring at you as though you were a wild animal.

"_____!" he said, his eyes huge. "You're up."

"You left," you shrugged, still smiling like a small child.

"...How are you feeling?" Connor asked slowly, looking you up and down as though you were about to spontaneously combust.

"Good - great - actually...better now that you're here." You didn't know what you were saying so gave an awkward laugh in the hopes of making light of it.

Connor didn't seem to be paying attention. He was still looking you up and down as though you were a stranger.

"Oh, um," you gestured to your new clothes. "Myriam lent me these. I thought it would be better than your shirt - not that it wasn't nice - but, well...it was pretty big - I think Prudence is washing it if you-"

You stopped abruptly as Connor held up a hand to silence you. You knew him well enough to know that it was not out of spite, merely to stop you babbling. (You babbled a lot when you played chess - it was how he knew you were bluffing.)

"It suits you," he said simply.

You hoped you weren't blushing as much as you thought you were blushing.

"To be honest, I prefer my uniform," you said almost hopefully.

Connor looked away from you, looking slightly awkward. As though you'd accidentally exposed a secret. He even started walking back to the horses, which made your stomach sink.

You chased after him and grabbed his elbow, though you know he only stopped out of courtesy.

"What did you do with my uniform?" you demanded.

You heard Connor sigh. He half looked back at you.

"It was in tatters," was all he said in his defence. 

Your hand dropped and you fought to keep the pout from your face. It felt like you were nothing - a nobody. Nobody knew who you were beyond the Davenport Homestead and your family either thought you'd eloped or were dead. You had no identity - not even a faceless soldier.

Connor had climbed back into the seat of the carriage, but turned back to you once he saw that you weren't following.

"I'll give you a lift," he said. Then, with some hesitation. "There is someone I think you should meet."

Downcast, you pulled yourself up onto the seat beside him.

The horses started, their hooves echoing on the dusty path. It felt odd not to be riding one and sat behind it instead. It almost reminded you that you were back to what you always had been - a woman. There would be no more adventures now.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Connor giving you sideways glances. You stoutly ignored him.

Eventually, he gave a sigh.

"I'm sorry about your clothes," he said. "But I may have a better offer than a soldier."

Your ears had pricked up, but you pretended that you didn't care all that much.

"Oh?" you asked. "And what would that be?"

"I cannot tell you," you whipped your head around just in time to catch Connor smirking ever so slightly. "It's up to Achilles."

"I-I'm meeting Achilles?!" you couldn't help but be nervous.

"You have been intruding on his hospitality," Connor said, practically revelling in your nerves. (You had gotten used to reading the subtle changes in his facial expression.) His eyes softened as he took in your expression. "You have nothing to worry about."

You trusted him.

So you tried to sit back and relax. Eventually, a sprawling red-brick mansion came into view between the towering pine trees, its chimneys like sentries. It only seemed to get bigger as you pulled up to it until you couldn't help but stare, open-mouthed at it.

"You live here?" you asked Connor as he hopped down from the driver's seat of the convoy.

"Only when I'm in the area," Connor replied, the faintest stroke of embarrassment crossing his face. He didn't offer you a hand down, but he had one hand on the side of the convoy to steady it as you clambered down, and when you stumbled he caught the small of your back. You tried not to let your breath catch at the touch. He was always so _warm_.

The pair of you headed up the stairs and you took the opportunity to glance around at the heart of the estate more. The stables alone looked more spacious than your old home. You quickly remembered yourself, however, and followed Connor through the open door instead of gawking.  
The house looked lived-in; in that it wasn't necessarily messy, but not as tidy as one may have wished. Just that made it all the nicer. It was cosy. Realistic. The place you immediately feel at home in.

Connor headed through the house and into what must have been the drawing room. It obviously hadn't been furnished a while because it all looked like your Gran's furniture. 

Sat, almost dozing off in one of the low sofas was an elderly, dark skinned man. He had a walking stick propped up by his feet. There was a teapot on the table by him that looked as though it had sat there a while.

"Achilles," Connor said in a low voice beside you. You lingered back as he approached the man, shaking his shoulder lightly. "Achilles!"

The man suddenly jerked awake. There was a flash of something in his eyes that for a moment scared you, but as he took Connor in he relaxed back into the chair.

"Connor, you've graced me with your presence," he said sarcastically. You bit back a giggle, not wanting to draw attention to yourself but immensely relieved he was not as intimidating as your mind had made him out to be.

"Something came up," Connor said, almost conspiratorially, his head tilted towards Achilles.

"And?" Achilles' eyes sparkled.

"Done," Connor replied. Then he seemed to remember you and waved a hand over in your direction. "I've brought someone to meet you."

"So, I take it you're the _____ Connor has been talking about." Achilles said slowly, turning his gaze to you.

"I guess so." You replied, with a small smile. Your couldn't help but glance at Connor - _he talked about you? What did he say?_ \- and found that he was slightly pink.

"Come in. Sit down," Achilles waved you in then gestured to the table in front of him. "Tea?"

You sat down on the sofa opposite him, doing your best to appear a civilised young woman and not a young soldier, with little success.

"Yes. Black, please." You said out of politeness.

Achilles nodded to Connor who gave a small sigh and an eye roll before pouring your drink and handing it to you. You were surprised to find that it was still warm and gave a hesitant sip, cradling it in your hands.

"Connor tells me you were a soldier," Achilles continued. You got an underlying feeling that he was trying to test you, which made you nervous.

"It seems he's been saying a lot about me," you remarked, your gaze once more flicking to Connor. He was leaning against the windowsill next to Achilles' armchair and was avoiding your gaze. 

"All for a reason," Achilles' words seemed to hold heavy in the air. He leant forward, resting his chin on his hands. "It seems we three may be very much alike."

"Uhm..." you weren't sure what to say. You weren't sure if that was a compliment or not. You weren't really sure what you all had in common.

The silence stretched for an awkward amount of time. You stared helplessly from Achilles to Connor. They seemed to be waiting for you to say something. When you didn't, Achilles leant back in his seat.

"May I ask why you signed up for the war?" he asked.

"Well...lots of little reasons, I guess," you felt your face grow warm as you considered the question. You hadn't much in the past; it was just a calling. "I wanted to make a difference in America, especially as I probably wouldn't have the opportunity any other time and - I don't want to end up a housewife with no accomplishment - or - or adventure. I just - I kind of - I knew that I had to stand up for - not just my own; everyone else's freedom-"

"That's a little reason?" Achilles cut across you so abruptly that your mouth snapped shut. You were so determined to say the right thing (whatever that was) that it took you a moment to consider his question.

"Well, no..." you murmured eventually. "I guess it's a big reason."

"It is," Achilles nodded. He leant forward once more, not so much as the first time but as though you had captured his attention. "_____, you are an intelligent girl and you are willing to sacrifice everything for what you believe in-"

"I wouldn't go that far, Sir-" you felt awful for contradicting him, but worse to be made to be a hero when you didn't feel like one.  
Achilles stopped and he raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at Connor. As though they had passed a baton, Connor gave you a pointed look. His gaze lingered on the hastily cut hair and borrowed clothes.

"People deserve to live without fear," you murmured, your face red. You pulled your overcoat over you a little tighter, feeling almost as though you were on trial. "I feel like that would be worth sacrificing my own freedom for."

"Then you may be interested in our own cause." Achilles finally gave you a smile. And it was a warm smile that made your heart elate. _You had succeeded!  
In what...exactly?_

Achilles gave a small nod to Connor - like a stamp of approval; and he straightened up from the window ledge.

"I did not mean to aid George Washington," he told you, watching your reaction carefully. "Our paths just happened to cross as we were chasing our own goals."

There was a pause in the room and suddenly you were questioning if you were right to trust this man.

"...And what would your goal be?" you asked carefully.

"Freedom. For my people. For the people in Boston. Freedom from..." Connor's tone, which had seemed so sure before, trailed off and he looked to Achilles.

The older man gave a shrug and gestured his hand as though to say 'go ahead.' You watched all of this nervously.

"A group called the Templars." Connor finished. "They only wish to control people and keep them under their tight watch. To them, everyone must stay in their pyramid with them conveniently at the top. We fight against them."

Suddenly, you felt awful for all the doubts you had against Connor and Achilles. They were fighting for the same purpose that you were and you couldn't help but agree with them. You just hoped they were as trustworthy as you wanted to believe.

"And 'we' are?" you pressed, your voice suddenly seeming quite small.

"We," Achilles gave a pause with a look that said he was enjoying the dramatics of it all. "Are assassins."

You froze at the word. It sounded so vicious - so scary. 

So...exciting.

"Assassins...fight for liberty..." you repeated - it seemed to go against the stereotype you had in your head. They seemed to go against the stereotype you had in your head.

"For the people," Connor said and you were stuck looking into your eyes.

 _They want me to be an assassin._ The thoughts locked together in your head and for a moment you couldn't breathe. Everything seemed too much at once. You weren't sure where to start. You weren't sure what to do -

But you wanted to accept.

Something in you - the same gut instinct that told you to sign up for the war was telling you to grab onto this chance and never let go.

"I was against training another kid," Achilles' voice cut through your panicked thoughts and you and Connor finally turned your gazes away from one another. "But Connor was insistent you were something special."

Your face turned crimson.

_So they really were serious about this...and they were just taking you for accepted._

"I can train you, Achilles can watch and pick fault," Connor said, a small smirk appearing on his face at the latter comment. "That is, if you want."

Before you could say anything, Achilles cut through with an : "of course, if you said no we'd have to dump your body into a hay bale outside," then revelled in laughter at your expression as Connor rolled his eyes.

"No - I -" your throat felt dry and it cracked as you spoke. You cleared it and sat up all the straighter. "I want to join you. I'll become an assassin."

Connor was someone who smiled genuinely with just his eyes. And he gave you that twinkling look now - as though you had passed another test. You managed a hesitant smile in return - not quite sure what you had agreed to but feeling like you'd made the right choice.

"Besides," you managed to say. "Where else do I have to go?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support so far!  
> I'm planning on writing a Jacob x reader and Evie x reader oneshot as well as a modern!au x reader fic. ^u^


	3. Chapter Three : Initiate

Chapter Three : Trainee

"You did...actually want me to join you...right?" you asked hesitantly as you followed Connor from the drawing room.

"Why else would I ask?" Connor replied. He turned ever so slightly so you could so the little smile on his face.

You shrugged. You always found it hard to talk when he smiled like that.

You watched, intrigued but awkwardly polite, as Connor headed towards a sconce set into the wall. He grabbed and yanked it down so hard that you thought it would break.

And then there was a sudden rumbling and a cavernous hole appeared slowly in the wall.

"Come on," Connor said, gesturing the way down some musty old steps. "We have a lot to talk about."

You folllowed him down the almost threatening stair case.

Connor was lighting lanterns as he went down, revealing a thin layer of dust on everything.

One wall was covered in pictures and string with notes and newspaper clippings pinned all over them. The rest of the basement seemed to be dedicated to weaponry - with several beaten up practice dummies sprawling against the walls.

Your gaze caught on the wall of portraits, however, your eyes flicking from face to face.

"These are...templars?" you asked.

"Yes," Connor's voice came from behind you.

"And the ones with crosses on..." you didn't really need to ask, but you felt you needed him to say.

"Dead." Connor said, his voice completely unreadable.

Your eyes latched on to the last character on the wall and you let out an involuntary gasp.

"Kenway," you muttered. There was a ressemblance to Connor that was impossible to ignore.

Connor's hand landed on your shoulder with a suddenness that made you jump. You turned to him, half expecting him to tell you not to ask - or just glare at you. But he was also looking at the picture.

"My father," he said after a while.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. But he said no more. He stared at the picture of Haytham Kenway in silence.

Then his hand dropped from your shoulder.

"We should get started," he said. "Aren't you a little rusty?"

"You wish."

*

For the next couple of weeks, you trained constantly. Connor had forced you to take things slowly at first, to get used to rigourous excercise again before you pulled something and ended up back at the start. It had been frustrating, but his concern had touched you.

That didn't mean you didn't take extra runs every morning and evening and worked out in your room at the inn. (You had had to move out of the Doctor's house, but they had kindly offered a room because "any freind of Connor's is a friend of ours.")

It was a couple of weeks before you Connor let you loose at the targets on the wall with a rifle. Even then, Achilles had moaned that you'd knock the whole place down so the two of you moved outside and Connor got you to take shots at the dead branches. It took a little while to get back into the swing of things and you switched between rifles, muskets and pistols until you could hit the targets eight times out of ten.

He taught you how to use throwing knives and a bow and arrow - which took a lot more practice but you found it increasingly fun. Of course, it helped your climbing when the two of you had to hunt for them. (Connor reminded you that throwing knives were conspicious to buy in bulk and very expensive; though he promised to teach you how to make arrows one day.)

As for swords, which of course, you could handle, Connor didn't really have many. He said that he only really used his tomahawk and his hidden blade. You'd had to make do with a wooden replica and a training puppet, whilst Connor watched, half-intruged, from the corner of the room.

It was at least three weeks before Connor started sparring with you. At first, you had lost every time in embrassing, easy defeat. Connor just seemed too quick and ruthless for you to even get a punch in.

When you had found yourself on the floor for the fourth time in ten minutes he had offered you a hand up. He always helped you up. And he never got frustrated with you. That's the thing - Connor was just so damn gentle and understanding. He was so different from any teacher you'd had before - he was so patient.

"You fight too fairly," he told you as you tried to hide the fact that you were panting. "It is as though you have been taught how."

"Well, I have been taught how," you replied, swiping at your stinging lip - blood streaked your hand.

Connor's hand suddenly turned your chin up to look at him.

"Then forget what you've been taught," he said - still gentle. "Focus on knocking me over."

"But I don't want to knock you over," you muttered with a half smiling, pushing Connor's hand back down.

"That is why you can't," Connor said, for the first time almost exasperated. His eyes locked onto yours and though they were pulled there. "Don't let me be me. I am not Connor. I am your worst enemy."

There was a pause, and then the tiniest smile appeared at the edge of his lips.

"At least, when we spar."

You laughed at that, and after a small break, it was back to sparring.

There was definitely an improvement. Not huge. But an improvement.

And a few days later, you had started to hold your own against Connor. You still lost. Many times. But you were also starting to fight back - to not worry about stances and moves and just feel where to go.

But it was hard. Hard and tiring. You found it harder and harder to bounce back.

So when Connor had offered you his hand once more, you had looked at it, then rolled over on the hay lining the floor.

"Can we call it a day?" you asked quietly.

Connor remained silent. You took the oppurtunity to sit up, though you couldn't bring yourself to face him.

"Isn't sparring four times a day enough for you, Connor?" you continued. "In between target practice and sword practice and hidden blade practice..."

He still didn't say a word. You hoped he would continue to be that kind, patient teacher. To admit that he was pushing you too hard.

But he didn't.

Instead, his hand touched your shoulder and you half turned to find him crouched behind you, his expression unreadable.

"Come with me," he said in a low voice.

He was starting up the stairs before you could even get up and you were just at the door of the homestead when you saw he was climbing into the driver's seat of his carriage.

"Where are we going?" you managed to ask.

"I need to show you something," was all Connor replied.

Mutely, you climbed up beside him, guilt suddenly riddling your insides. Maybe you had said too much.

The entire carriage ride was silent. You left the homestead and entered the frontier. Now you half-wished that you'd looked more closely at a map during your stay - because you weren't sure in which direction you were now headed.

Eventually though, during the increasingly tense carriage ride, you recognised the familiar rode to Boston. The two of you entered through the gates. You would have thought that Connor would be tense when riding past so many Royalists who no doubt wanted his head; but he was as calm as a cucumber.

He continued to drive you through the city, still completely silent. Your words at the Homestead seemed like a distant memory to you, but Connor seemed to think otherwise.

On the outskirts of the town, Connor stopped the carriage.

"Come," he said simply to you, barely turning his head.

You followed him, clambering up a house behind him and resting on your haunches on the windowsill next to him.

"Watch," he said, this time jerking his head ever so slightly to the ground.

There was no one there. At least, not for a minute, but suddenly there was an almighty clatter of hooves and two Redcoats were striding up to the house, with all of their usual swagger and cockiness.

"What's going on?" you whispered to Connor, but he didn't reply. His eyes were narrowed as he watched the Redcoats.

It soon became apparent by their raised voices and demanding knocking that they were there to forcibly remove the family from their home.

When only whimpering and cries of children were heard inside, the larger of the two Redcoats kicked the door in. There was a lot of shouting, screaming and yelling and you craned your neck to try to see what was going on, your heart leaping into your throat.

Then the Redcoat emerged again, dragging a child no older than five out of the house by her arm. An arm so skinny that it looked like it was about to snap like glass. Her mother came running out of the house right behind her, her face as red and tear-streaked as her child. Two other children were clinging to her skirts, trying to pull her back into the house.

"We have to help," you murmured, starting to stand.

But Connor grabbed your wrist to stop you.

"Why?" he asked. He'd delibrately gone non-descript.

"Because they don't deserve to be treated like this!" you hissed back. "Because they're people and they need help! We can't just let this brutality happen!"

"Let's look at our options," Connor continued. "You could head down there and hand over the money for their rent. Or you could pin them with an arrow, a throwing knife, a rope dart...or dive in head first and all-out melee for it - if you feel you have sparred enough to be a match."

For a moment you were dumbfounded.

Then, you wrenched your hand from his grip and started to slip down the side of the house.

Your boots hit ground-level in seconds and you were running towards the commotion.

"Hey!" you yelled, your voice for once as strong as you felt. "Leave them alone!"

Your first punch collided with the side of the larger Redcoat's face, taking him by such surprise that he let go of the kid and stumbled back.

You had but a mere split-second of victory before a second-arm was tight around your neck. Panic flashed through your mind for a second before you dropped to your knees - one of the tricks you had learnt from fighting Connor. The shifting of weight meant that he was flung headlong.

You were straightening up when you were tackled to the ground under the larger Redcoat and you tasted dust. The two of you grappled in the dirt, knuckles and knees jamming hard into each other. 

The smaller of the Redcoats was able to pull you up by your collar and you received a sharp blow to your cheek.

You tasted blood. You weren't sure if they were going to kill you or arrest you.

When there was suddenly an arrow sticking out of the smaller Redcoat's neck.

A flash of colour and suddenly Connor was on top of the larger Redcoat, his hidden blade stuck in his neck.

You watched him stand up slowly, his arm covered in blood, then he turned to the terrified mother, desperately sheilding her children from the acts of violence.

"They will send more soldiers," he said, in that calm, collected voice. Not the voice of someone who had just killed two men in two seconds. "But here is the money for the rent next time."

The Mother was still sobbing as she accepted the roll of notes, though now from gratitude. She mumbled her thanks over and over - until Connor held up his hands and insisted it was nothing.

You watched all of this, blood dripping from your newly split lip and your body aching all over from the punches.

When the door was closed Connor turned to you. His dark eyes softened as he placed two hands on your shoulders.

"Do you understand why I train you so hard now?" he asked, gently.

You nodded.

"They are ruthless-"

"I know," you said, though your mouth stung in protest at your speech. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't - I understand now just what we're fighting against."

Something in Connor's eyes seemed to soften, but you only had a glimpse before you dived in for a hug.

At first, he went to jerk away, as he usually did, but your grip only tightened as you pressed the sore side of your face against his chest.

"Thank you." You whispered.

Then his arms were around you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): A very over due chapter. I just kinda...lost my fire for writing. It felt like I was going through a hard time and - it sounds conceited - but that people didn't really care about what I was writing. But nanowrimo lit a new fire in me and I hope to get back on track with everything.  
> To be honest, I'm not looking past my drama exam on Wednesday - and even after that I won't be able to solidly write until nanowrimo is over - but I do really love this story. o0o


	4. Chapter Four : Graduate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I moved to mention Hamilton like three times then backed out > >

Chapter Four: Assassin

You followed the man from your perch in the tree. He was walking over to his convoy, whistling a low tune.

Slowly, you moved your foot forward, until you were balanced over him.

He walked to the horse. You watched with narrow eyes as he petted it's neck. Then he started walking back to the end of the convoy.

One more step...

One more...

Not yet...

You dropped from the tree like a stone, your sword a glimmer of light.

The man was dead in the next second.

The horse whinnied and you ran to it, taking it's muzzle in your hands as you calmed it. (Just how Connor had taught you.)

You turned back to the convoy and pulled back the curtains. Just like you had researched. It had been delivering hundreds of guns to the redcoats.

And just like you had planned, you had stopped it.

"Satisfied?" you asked, seemingly to the trees, only half turning around.

You counted to five. Forced yourself to wait out the seconds.

Then you turned, knocking an attacker's arm to the side and flicking your hidden blade out - just against their neck.

Connor regarded you for a moment. Then his face broke into a small smile - which, for him - was a grin.

"Good work," he said.

"Thank you," you grinned at him, removing your hidden blade. It was rare you got a compliment from Connor, and when you did it made your heart soar.

He placed a hand on your shoulder.

"I want you to come to New York with me today," he said.

You felt excitement bubbling in your chest.

"Really? Why?" you asked.

But Connor had already swung onto the horse.

"You'll see," he said.

You clambered into the back of the convoy as Connor turned it back around, putting it on the tracks of the homestead.

It seemed like no time at all before he had parked you up.

"We need to do something inside first," Connor said, barely glancing back as he headed up the steps. He didn't need to. He knew how eager you were.

As usual, Connor headed straight to the secret basement, pausing only to gesture to Achilles to follow as he passed the parlour.

There was such a serious tone that you were almost nervous as you started down the stairs. There was a sombre mood in the Assassin Basement.

But Achilles was smiling.

"Connor here tells me he'd like to graduate you," he said, as you approached them.

"Graduate?" you echoed, looking to Connor. If you didn't know better, you would say he looked proud of you.

"You're ready," he said. "To be an assassin."

Your heart jumped. You found yourself smiling. It hadn't seemed like you were ever going to make it.

"Here," Connor continued, holding something out to you.

It was a hidden blade.

Like Connor's, it was intricately and expensively made, though the blade had the shininess of one never used before. It seemed dazzling.

Connor slipped the blade onto your arm for you, tightening it against your forearm.

"Thank you," you murmured.

He nodded at you, but there was a small smile on his face. Your heart was in your throat; this was the closest you'd been to him since your trip to New York.

"There is a proper ritual to go through," Achilles said, but his voice seemed miles away. "But Connor insisted on being quiet about it."

"I don't need a big fuss," you said, though you could barely pull your gaze away from Connor's dark eyes.

You somehow knew that Achilles was raising an eyebrow though. It was something in the way that he said 'I'll leave you to it'. You could feel his eyes on the pair of you as he headed up the stairs, his cane banging resoundly on every step.

And you were still standing there, staring at Connor. And he was just staring back.

"Thanks, again," you mumbled. Mainly because you felt you wanted to fill the silence. "Without you, I never would have gotten back on my feet."

"It was my pleasure," Connor murmured. Were you crazy, or was he tilting his head?

Was he about to kiss you?

Just as you had the thought, Connor moved away suddenly. The jerk of someone remembering something.

"New York," he said simply, starting to cross back to the stairs.

"Oh, right," there was a flutter of disappointment in your chest as you followed him. "Are we going templar hunting?"

"No," for a moment, you thought that was all you were going to get from him. Then he turned marginally back to you. "I thought you'd like to see your family."

You grinned at the thought.

"Of course - it will be great to let them know-"

"To say goodbye." Connor interrupted.

You had reached the top of the stairs now, and there was enough room for you to pull Connor round to face you. He let you; he always did.

"What do you mean?" you asked, suddenly fearful.

"Templars know my face," Connor said. It was like he was explaining a sum. "And they will know yours. It is best not to have anyone you're close to."

You were still trying to follow this, when he started out the doorway. His logic was right, but that didn't make it any less disturbing to you.

"Is your mother in New York?" you asked meekly as you stepped outside. Connor's father was an unspoken forbidden subject, and he only spoke of his childhood rarely.

You tried not to pry, but you were half hoping that he would be a hypocrite.

"No," Connor said. There was something in his voice which told you not to press the subject.

You both slid onto your horses and started off.

The silence quickly became awkward as your horses trotted onwards.

"What do you see?" you asked after it became unbearable. It was a game you usually played whenever you rode together. Connor would point out animal tracks, marks they had made, convoy paths. Anything that was alive, Connor was aware of.

Today was different.

"You tell me," he said, barely glancing towards you. But as you started listing tracks and noises and broken branches, a small smile appeared at the edge of his mouth.

"You forgot something," he said.

You blinked.

He corrected you, telling you all of the things you had missed.

And that was how you passed the time as you made your way into the city. Pointing out tracks and details to each other. Echoes of the past.

Riding into New York felt the same - you felt your stomach summersaulting as you passed the guards.

Connor followed you as you set your horse into a trot, retracking the path back to your home - a path you had not taken for more than a year.

It seemed all too soon that you arrived in front of your home. It sat snugly between two other homes, the windowsills full of half-dying flowers. They still seemed strangely bright and yellow surrounded by the brown houses either side.

You paused at the door. Took a deep breath.

And continued standing there.

You took another breath. Raised a fist.

But you didn't knock.

You took another breath.

Connor put a hand on your shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

You let that breath go.

"No," you said. "I have no idea what to say."

"Start with 'hello'," Connor said.

Before you were able to laugh, he had knocked on the door.

And the next moment, with assassin-like speed, he had disappeared.

The door opened.

You had no choice.

"Hello."

*

It was dusk in New York city when you punched Connor in the arm.

He had only just reappeared, when you had reached the end of the road of your parents house, in that ghostly fashion of his.

“I can’t believe you would leave me like that!” you snapped.

Connor just shrugged infuriatingly.

“You needed to do it by yourself,” he said.

You stuck out your tongue at him, pretending to be cross. You could never stay angry with him for long, especially when he was so unapologetic. It had helped, seeing your parents. They had been overjoyed to see you. You had given them a censored account of your experiences, paling them both the colour of sheets.  
It had been nice to see familiar faces, to give them the ease of mind that you were okay.

They had asked you to stay. Your mother said that your hair would be growing out soon, and she was sure she could find you a match in town. “It would be so lovely,” she said. “If we were all together again. And things could be like they used to.”

You had said ‘no’ all too quickly. Quickly enough for them to be suspicious. You hadn’t mentioned Connor, but you explained that you had found work on land and that you had to stay where you were. That you would visit as often as you could.

It had hurt. To not be able to tell them you were an assassin. That you were supposed to renounce them.

“I did,” you said now, to Connor. “Thank you.”

He just gave you a small smile that made your heart leap.

"Were they," Connor paused. "Happy to see you?"

"Over the moon," you replied. You felt strangely guilty when talking about family, knowing that Connor didn't see his.

"I am glad," Connor said.

You had reached the end of the road, where the horses were still tied. You reached out to undo your horses reins, but Connor was standing still beside you.

"Are we not headed back to the homestead?" you asked.

He seemed deep in thought.

"No," he said slowly, then brought his eyes heavily away from the horizon. "We should stay the night in New York."

It was unlike him to be so spontaneous, and you believed he either had been planning this, or had ulterior motives.

"Okay," you said slowly. "Lead the way."

Connor did, but it didn't take a genius to say he seemed tense. He kept glancing around and he was walking stiffly, but you knew that he wouldn't tell you what was bothering him if you pressed the issue. You did, however, slip an arm in his to reassure him, and he gave you a brief, distracted smile.  
You arrived at a tavern with an intricate sign shaped like a dragon, and Connor led the way in. It was stifingly warm inside; men were playing card games whilst swigging from huge flasks. The sound of loud chatter filled the air, and you were barely noticed as you walked in. You scanned for any danger, seeing mostly drunks and boisterous men, with a few women either waiting patiently to go home, or to get paid, and noticed one man staring at the two of you - or, more specifically, Connor.

You elbowed Connor, and gestured to the man, but he just shook his head and made his way to the counter.

He paid for a room, much more money than you thought was necessary.

The two of you climbed up the stairs and arrived at a simple room furnished with a large bed, a writing desk, a tattered chair, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. It was charming, if not old. It would be a nice place to relax, if you hadn't felt that man's eyes follow you up the stairs.

"Connor, that man," you started, but he raised a hand to silence you.

"Templar," he said simply, and then, "This is a templar pub."

"Then why are we-" your question trailed off as Connor walked past you.

"They know who I am," he said. "They won't hurt me. Us."

You looked at his back, trying not to feel nervous and not being succesful. What had he led you into?

"You're being very secretive about all of this," you said slowly.

Connor's fingers trailed the edge of the writing desk.

"You're not the only one who is seeing family today," he said, as carefully as you.

You couldn't help a small gasp.

"Your father...?" you muttered.

Connor turned back. You felt his gaze on you, but couldn't meet his eyes. He stepped forward.

"Would you like anything to drink?" he asked. You knew him well enough to know when he didn't want to talk.

But you couldn't play his game of normalicy. You shook your head, then stood aside to let him pass by. He took your elbow and leant in close for a moment.

"There are some clothes in my bag," Connor told you. "Wear them, and hide your assassin robes."

You didn't question him. Maybe, if he was still your teacher, you wouldn't have needed to. Now, you weren't sure if you wanted to.

You just nodded, then did as he asked. The clothes were nothing like what you would normally wear - much too proper and frilled, but from the smell they were brand new. You bundled up your robes and hid them under the straw matress; they looked like a deflated doll.

Then you despondently flicked through a bible that had been left on the chest of drawers, until Connor returned, some ten minutes later, with a bottle in hand.

"I am sorry," he said. He didn't say for what, but fixed you with his strong gaze. When he looked at you like that - like a sheepish puppy, you felt you could forgive him for anything. "They don't know about you. That there are more of me."

"It's okay," you said, setting the bible aside, and sitting cross legged on the bed. "I can't imagine what it must be like for you."  
You were sure this was the conversation he had been trying to avoid.

The room was so small that he was at the end of your bed. He stepped forward, and cupped your cheek with his hand for a moment. Like a hunted squirrel, you were trapped by his gaze.

"At least I'm not alone anymore," he said slowly.

And there it was again. A moment where you both leant towards eachother. A kiss? Before -

"You should try and get some rest."

"Don't you want me to stay up with you?" you asked. "Couldn't I be of any help?"

Connor just gave you a grim smile.

"Not tonight."

So you settled down under the starch covers and closed your eyes. Connor had lit a candle, and was sat at the desk, but you could not be sure whether or not he was writing, or carving with his knife.

Eventually, you drifted off into the muddled, confused land of dreams.

...And slowly drifted back again.

There were voices in the room. You opened your eyes a crack and saw that a candle was still burning. There were shadows on the wall across from you. You felt about to scream, before you recognised one of the voices as Connor's.

You tuned into the conversation.

"-want to know why we're spending so much time together." That voice didn't belong to Connor's - it was cultured and British. It must have been his father, Haytham Kenway.

"We are looking for the same man." Connor's voice said.

"That's not enough anymore, Connor. They want to know if I've converted you to our side." You watched the man's shadow step towards Connor.

"I will always stand on the side of freedom and liberty." He said, standing his ground and pulling himself up to his full height.

"With those damned rebels - Washington and his lackeys?" his father moved away again and you fought not to make it obvious that you had been holding your breath.

"I do not care for your war - I fight for my own reasons."

"And how many people are you bringing into the fight?" his father started to move around the bed and you closed your eyes again, conentrating on looking asleep.

"_____ is unaware of the battle between assassins and templars."

"A pretty face...why have you brought them here?" you felt something trace across your face and tried not to shudder or flinch.

"They were visiting family, I suggested we stay the night."

"I heard some of those other rebels were tomcats."

"It's not like that." Connor seemed defensive, but it made your heart sink a little. What if it was like that?

"They look...oddly familiar."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"Have you brought any information, or have you just come to chat?" Connor asked. Even you could hear the slight strain of panic in his voice.

"Right, of course," his father muttered. You heard him move away from you and watched his shadow hand something to Connor.

Their voices dropped, and Haytham Kenway left the room. You felt yourself drifting back off to sleep, but not before you lost your senses, you felt a hand press against your cheek and heard Connor murmur.

"I am sorry for not including you in this. I know we are equals, but I want to keep you safe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N) : Sorry it took so long!


	5. Chapter Five : Farmhand

Chapter Five : Farmhand

You awakened the next day to find Connor asleep, hunched over the desk. He looked serene.

So you decided to help yourself to some change and head downstairs.

There was the aftermath of a night out drinking - empty flagons and even a few broken tables.

You strode as confidently as you could to the bar, and paid for breakfast for the two of youm Within minutes, you were carrying golden, buttered toast, bacon and egg back up the stairs to Connor.

He was awoken by the smell," and you did you best to give him a joyful smile, eventhogh the events to last night were playing on your mind.

"You're too kind," he said with a small smile.

You shrugged as you set it on the desk.

"You paid for it," you said, and Connor actually laughed.

He seemed in such good spirits that you didn't ask about the letter on the desk. You didn't ask why he hadn't squeezed onto the opposite side of the bed.

The two of you returned to the Homestead in good time, by about noon. The weather was warm, and you had been able to joke around with each other.

Something changed as you pulled up to the main house. Something dark passed over Connor's expression.

"I have some business to take care of," he said. It didn't take a genius to guess that it had something to do with last night.

Ordinarily, you would immediately ask if you could help. Today, however, you knew the answer. You couldn't let Connor know you had eavesdropped on him.

"Okay," you said, as brightly as you could. "I'll see you later then."

For a moment, Connor looked like he was going to say something - call you out - but then he nodded and retreated into the house.

Feeling like a spare part, you started wandering up to Diana's house, though it would be unlikely that she was in.

You were just heading past the mill when you heard your name being called. You turned to see the wives and Eunice waving at you. They had even sat down a grumpy looking Diana.

"Where have you been for the last couple of days?"

"We missed you,"

"Oh, I was in New York. Visiting family."

"With Connor?"

You felt yourslelf blush at the tone.

"I - t's not-"

"He has a soft spot for you, you know,"

"I'm sure it's just because he rescued me,"

The married women exchanged glances. Diana rolled her eyes and bit into a cherry, tosssing the pip onto the floor. There was a basket of the fruit next to her.

"How was New York?" Diana asked, and you managed to ease your way away from the subject of Connor.

Until there was a pile of pips in the middle of the circle, and the wives insisted on playing counting games with them; especially for you and Diana - "to make sure you're futures were secure."

"_____, first," she said, with a smirk in your direction.

You glared, but played along, counting the pips.

"Rich man, Poor man, Beggar man, Thief, Doctor, Lawyer, Indian chief."

_Indian chief._

*

 _Not a chief. Just a game for kids. You were just friends._ You repeated the sentences over and over as you headed into the woods, with Connor at your side.

_He was your mentor. He was your friend._

"So I take it from the lack of pistols, we're not hunting templars today?" you asked, as casually as you could.

Connor gave you a sideways glance, and the corner of his lips turned up in a smile.

"We are not hunting templars today," he agreed. "I thought you could use a break."

The two of you emerged from the trees, and you inwardly groaned at what you saw.

It was a field full of pigs. Running free.

"But we still need the excercise," Connor said, clapping your back.

You stared at him, incredulous.

"You want to herd these guys?" you said.

"It's easy," Connor shrugged.

He started toward one of the pigs, his arms outstretched to herd it toward the sty, and it bucked and ran to the other side of the clearing, it's trotters splattering Connor's front with mud.

"Easy?" you repeated, taking a step forward. Your boot sunk until the ankle in the mud.

Connor gave you a look, then picked up a stick and started to call to the pigs. Everytime he got close to one, it would scatter and run further from the sty. You were helpless but to laugh.

And as soon as you were off of your guard, a pig came barelling into your side, and you found yourself suddenly sprawling, and literally stuck in the mud.

You heard a chuckle from above you and looked up to see Connor - actually laughing. His eyes sparkled. It was the first time you had ever seen him so genuinely happy, and it left you breathless.

He was still grinning when he offered you a hand up. You took it, still finding it surprising how effortlessly Connor could pull you up.

"We have to work together," he said.

You nodded.

Connor touched your cheek, leaving a trial of mud.

You pushed him, leaving streaks of mud on his white assassin robes, then darted behind a pig to escape him.

The two of you were laughing, darting around pigs as you fought to avoid each other, but fling mud at each other at the same time. You lost track of time until you darted out of the way of a pig, and, instead of hiding behind another pig, finding Connor catching your waist. With one foot, he kicked the sty closed. You had managed it.

And when you turned, grinning to Connor, your noses were practically touching. You were both breathless and covered in mud. The oddity of last night was forgotten.

"____," Connor said. He swallowed and you felt your heart leap. _This was it!_ "You should probably clean up before dinner."

Your heart sunk again.

"Sure," you smiled like it was nothing, and smeared some more mud on his cheek.

He chuckled and you started off across the field.

Maybe it was just all in your head. Connor obviously didn't feel anything for you.

You should probably just let it go. But it would be hard to forget about him when you worked in such close proximity all the time.

You sighed as you headed back into the Inn and scrubbed the mud from yourself. Corrine, seeing the state you were in, had laid out fresh, clean white shirt and trousers for you.

You were meant to be meeting for dinner with Achilles, as was the Sunday night tradition. But the thought of seeing Connor there brought a deep feeling of shame to the pit of your stomach.

_No, you couldn't go._

You coughed as you walked down the stairs, dragging your feet. You told Corrine at the desk that you weren't feeling well - "It was being out in the mud in the cold," - and asked her to pass the message on to Achilles.

She nodded - "of course hun, you just focus on getting better. Oliver - make Oliver some chicken soup!"

You gave a weak, grateful smile, then fake-hobbled back to your room.

There was a huge bouquet of flowers on the windowsill.

You checked the room number. _Yes, it was yours._

You stood outside, closed the door, then entered again. But the flowers were still there.

So, you crossed the room and examined them.

They were mostly wildflowers, the kind that grew on the Homestead.Though they seemed much larger than usual, arranged so that everyone seemed to pop out at you. It made the bouquet dazzling.

The only flower in the bouquet that you hadn't seen on the homestead was a huge sunflower in the middle. You had never seen a sunflower, especially a picked one, look so alive.

There was no note. But there didn't have to be. You knew who they were from immediately. There was a streak of mud on the windowsill, and you knew the bootprint.

Connor.

_So what did this mean?_


	6. Chapter Six : Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Fluff. And another scene of fluff.

Chapter Six : Lover

You avoided Connor for about fourteen hours.

The awkward thing about working with someone, was that, in order to work together, you actually had to meet face to face.

Connor found you as you were trying to sneak back into your inn in the afternoon.

Or, rather, he was waiting for you. He was leaning on the doorframe of the inn.

By the time you had considered sneaking around the back and climbing up to your room, he had already spotted you.

You groaned inwardly, but approached him.

As you got closer, you noticed that, despite his nonchalant pose, Connor looked nervous.

"Hi," your voice was small as you reached him. _Maybe he would just let you pass._

"Hello," Connor looked as awkward as you felt.

You stood in uncomfortable silence for a few moments. You could hear people gambling and drinking inside the inn.

You cleared your throat, swaying on the balls of your feet.

"Thank you," you muttered. "For the - flowers."

"It's nothing," Connor replied. He scratched the back of his neck, and the small plait at the nape of his neck fell forward.

"It was very thoughtful," you felt as though you were saying the same things in different ways. "Uh - my room has never had any flowers. It's nice. They smell nice."

Connor usually raised an eyebrow when you started to ramble, but now he wasn't even meeting your gaze.

"It was Prudence's idea," he said.

You nodded, still swaying slightly. You ran a hand through your hair.

"Pudence's idea," you repeated to yourself.

"I wanted to-" Connor broke off.

A bottle smashed inside. A drunk staggered out of the door, and you stepped out of his way.

His arm jerked towards you, and then away.

You breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn't knocked you into Connor. That would have been _really_ awkward.

A swarm of people burst out of the door, jeering after the drunk.

They came so fast, that Connor hadn't moved out of the way. Two men bashed either side of him, and he stumbled forward.

A second later, you found that his arms were around you, as he steadied himself. You were pressed into his chest.

The jeering of the men seemed like world's away. You were safely cacooned in Connor's arms.

You looked up, feeling heat rise up your neck. Connor was staring down at you, his dark eyes wide. You had never seen him startled before.

"You wanted to..." you continued for him. His nerves had given you a glimmer of courage, and you found yourself smiling up at him.

"To tell...you..." Connor's words trailed off. His gaze dropped to your lips. His eyebrows knitted together.

"Connor-" you were interupted when he pressed your lips against yours.

Your body leant back at the force of the kiss, but you found yourself kissing back. Connor's arm held you, and you felt his other hand bury itself in your hair. Each of his fingers seemed to tingle against your skin.

Your own hand went to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. Your other hand went to his cheek, your thumb tracing his jawline.

Connor leant away to breath, and your noses bumped against each other's. You pressed his face back against yours; your mind a haze. You couldn't think beyond this moment - of kissing him - to think about what came next.

He moved away first, kissing first the corner of your mouth, then your cheek. He pressed his face against the side your head; you could feel his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek. Connor was holding you to him like a lifeline.

"I did not want to tell you," Connor whispered. Your hands clutched at his hair - like silk under your fingers. "It is dangerous for Assassin's to fall in love."

"I know," you murmured in response. You turned your head slightly, and your lips grazed the top of his ear. "It's dangerous for a soldier to fall in love too."

You had both said it. 'I love you.' Your heart beat heavily, as though it had wings and longed to be free.

It was.

*

You loved this, you thought, as you looked out at the rabbits on the hill to your left.

Your fingers were in Connor's as the two of you took a walk through the forest.

He was telling you something, but it just sounded like a hum. A happy hum of a bee. You couldn't concentrate like this.

"_____," Connor clicked his fingers in front of your face, and you turned to blink at him.

"Yes?" you asked.

"I switched to my native language, and you did not even flinch," he said.

You felt a blush creep up your neck.

"I was just," you sighed. The branches shuddered overhead, raining watery sunshine down on the two of you. "I was thinking about you. And how much I love being with you."

"Then _listen_ to me," Connor said, but he was smiling, and he pecked you on the nose.

You caught his shirt before he could pull away, and continue to give you a lecture on tracking.

"Teach me your language," you asked. "How do you say 'rabbit'?"

He told you, his eyes twinkling.

You repeated it, and he laughed.

"That does not mean rabbit," he said.

"What did I say?" you asked.

Connor just shook his head, and repeated 'rabbit'.

You copied him, and he still smiled wryly at you.

It took several minutes before you passed his test. You were rewarded with a kiss.

A deer crashed through the bushes in front of you, and you pointed to it.

"What about deer?"

"Ohskennon:ton," Connor said. It was with such grace and ease - the language sounded so beautiful.

"Ohsken - non-" you broke off when Connor started to laugh again.

"You will need lots of practice," he said. He gently pulled you further into the forest. The deer startled, and bounded away.

"But when I practice - if I get good..." you trailed off.

"_____, I cannot show you my village," Connor said. Firmly, but regretfully. "I love you, but too many people have tried to take advantage of my people."

You tried not to be disappointed.

"Even when the templars...go?" you asked in a small voice.

Connor paused.

"Maybe," he finally said.

You smiled, and leant on your tip-toes to kiss his cheek.

"Then I'll make sure to practice everyday to let that happen," you told him.

Then you cried out as he, seemingly effortlessly, picked you up so that you were sat in his arms.

"_____ ______, you are the best," he told you, as you clung onto his shoulders.

You smiled, then pressed your lips against his forehead.

"I know," you said. "But you're even better."

"I love you," he said. The words never ceased to take your breath away. _He was yours. And you were his. And that seemed more than you could ever dream of._

"I love you too."

*

You had pinned Connor against the wall, and had a knife to his throat.

He had raised a hand to stop you, but you had caught his wrist. Normally he was stronger, but when you could kill him with one move...

You smiled at him, and kissed him.

"I win," you said.

"You are getting better," Connor admitted, as you pulled the knife away, a triumphant smirk on your face.

You found yourself landing on your back a moment later.

"But you let your guard down too easy," Connor loomed over you, his hands resting on the floor either side of your head.

You could only laugh, his eyes leaving you as breathless as they always did. _Did they always used to twinkle like stars when they looked at you? Or was that only always in your head?_

_Or was it not in your head?_

You giggled as Connor leant down to kiss you, his dark hair tickling your cheeks.

"I-" you paused, taking in every inch of his face. "Love you."

"I know," Connor kissed you again. "I love you too."

The last week had been the happiest week you had had in a very long time. Connor had barely left your side, and that was okay. Just having him beside you made the whole world seem a little brighter. The little touches of your back and shoulders that he'd give when you were talkign to someone, or the kisses on your head and neck when you were reading made your stomach cartwheel every time. Now that you looked back, you wondered why you had hesitated for so long to confess your feelings for him.

"How long," you asked him now, fiddling with the ends of his hair. "Have you felt this way about me?"

Connor gave you a small smile; they were becoming more frequent and he seemed to light up like a firework every time.

"I do not want to out do you," he said, simply.

You found yourself giggling again. He made a fool of you. You could understand why girls had made themselves look so foolish in front of soldiers (including yourself), now.

Connor's thumb traced your jawline, and he smiled down at you.

"I think that is enough training for today," he said.

The two of you shifted so that you were sitting. You shuffled onto Connor's lap, and rested your forehead against his cheekbone.

"I never want this to end," you murmured. Connor's hand ran through your hair.

Connor paused, his nose bumping against yours.

"Do you believe in fate?" he asked.

You paused, considering the question.

"Do you?" you replied.

Connor was silent. You wanted him to kiss you again, but he seemed in deep thought.

“I think so,” he said eventually. “I do not think it was a coincidence I found you in those woods.”

“That’s a romantic idea,” you muttered pulling Connor’s mouth closer to yours. “How would we know?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, his lips brushing against your jaw.

“What made you think of it?” you asked, your mouth on the shell of his ear.

Connor was silent. His mouth was underneath the collar of your shirt. Just.

“Connor,” you prompted, when he was quiet for too long.

“Do you think fate can be changed?” he said. He was very still. His mind was elsewhere, you could tell that.

“I think…we have a say in our fate,” you replied slowly. You kissed him ceheekbone tenderly.

Connor’s hand tightened around your hair. You felt him take a deep breath in, his chest against yours. You hugged him tightly.

“It’s okay,” you said into his hair. You weren’t sure what had him so tense, but you wanted to make it better. “I’m with you.”

“I know.” Connor kissed your neck.

The top button of your shit popped open with the action, and Connor pulled away.

“On your feet,” he said, effortlessly pulling you up with him. “Again.”

“Do we have to?” your fingers traced his buttons.

Connor smirked. For a moment, you thought that he was going to say ‘no’, and kiss you again.

"Of course," he said instead, and seconds later you were landing on the ground.

You rolled away from him, coming up on your hands and knees, ready to srike back.

When the door at the top of the stairs flew open, and Achilles hobbled in with surprising speed.

"You two need to head to New York," he said. "Immediately."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N) : Sorry for the long wait! And sorry for losing the picture url. I know it's in my tumblr likes, so I'll try to put it up as soon as I sort them through. I really tried to drag it out, but it ended up being kind of short. I just wanted to keep this part completely seperate. I think the next chapter will end up being quite long as a result. >u>

**Author's Note:**

> (A/N): Long time, no publishing. ^^"" I was actually playing all of the Assassin Creeds before my brother went to Univeristy in case he took the xbox one with him before I played Syndicate (though at this rate, he's going to be staying for a while > >)  
> I have to say - although I love Connor very much, I found Assassin's Creed III really hard to play e-e Steering the Jackdaw was a lot easier...  
> This actually started as a sick!reader, but then I got a better inspiration. I wasn't so happy with it being females only...but the rest will be gender neutral I promise. :V  
> I'm not sure how often this will update, but I'm hoping every Sunday for a couple of weeks - I've got about three chapters all written out so I decided to bite the bullet!


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